Peter Bows
by Andi Horton
Summary: Oneshot. "When all is said and done, and the end to all things comes, I will still know you." Sometimes, there are things even Kings don't want to hear.


Peter Bows

0O0O0O0

_I debated posting this for quite some time. It wasn't intended to be posted publicly; I had just told a friend or two I might do this, and they were anxious to see it, so I did. Then I was told I ought to post it, and I am suggestible that way, so I thought aw, what the heck ;)_

_In all seriousness, though, I really owe a big thank you to Francienyc for reading this and offering her take on it, and then urging me to put it out there. It was the sort of balanced feedback I needed, and it meant a lot to receive it. I am still not entirely sure she is right and that I oughtn't keep this hidden away forever, but like I said, I'm suggestible._

_So here goes._

0O0O0O0

"You are too old, children," said Aslan, "and you must begin to come close to your own world now."

"It isn't Narnia, you know," sobbed Lucy. "It's you. We shan't meet you there. And how can we live, never meeting you?"

"But you shall meet me, dear one," said Aslan.

"Are you there too, Sir?" said Edmund.

"I am," said Aslan. "But there I have another name. You must learn to know me by that name. This was the very reason why you were brought to Narnia, that by knowing me here for a little, you may know me better there."

—_The Voyage of the Dawn Treader_

0O0O0O0

"Who are you?" asked Shasta.

"Myself," said the Voice, very deep and low so that the earth shook: and again "Myself", loud and clear and gay: and then the third time "Myself", whispered so softly you could hardly hear it, and yet it seemed to come from all round you as if the leaves rustled with it.

—_The Horse and His Boy_

0O0O0O0

"When all is said and done, I will still know you."

It was not the answer he had wanted. It was not the answer he had expected. But when it came to taking answers from Aslan, one knew to work with the answer one was given.

So Peter bowed his head and thought.

"My son?" the deep rumble would have sounded amused, if it hadn't been so mighty. "You are confused."

Well there was no fooling _him._

"I am, Aslan. I . . ." he tried not to sound petulant. "I came to you with a . . . problem."

There was a gentleness in the Lion's correction.

"I came to _you_, Son of Adam, because you sought me for your problem. I came to you," deeper, now, and more purposeful, "because the problem you have brought to me must be addressed, if you are to understand your place here, where I have put you."

It should have made him feel better, but it only made him feel small and lost. No man who has ridden to wars, seen his family through a thousand perils, and sat on the throne over one of the greatest kingdoms he has ever known should have to feel so small, and yet Peter couldn't help but think it was probably good for him.

"You knew, then."

"Of the challenge issued to you by your courtier; by the man who believes he knows what is best for Narnia? Yes, my son. I knew."

"That he wants me to . . . to . . ." and he couldn't say it. It disgusted him so.

"That he believes he has found a way to strengthen what I have made perfect. Yes. And you have sought me because you do not trust your own counsel; nor do you trust the counsel of your brother, whose heart is broken by the belief that you would ever consider this, or your sisters; the one who cannot comprehend how you could imagine this is right, and the one whose honour you would sully forever by your assent."

"Aslan—" his voice broke, but he couldn't help it. It sounded so horrible when it was put that way.

"Do not pretend that you have not considered it. Do not pretend that you have tried to overlook the revulsion you feel for a reason."

"No, Aslan," Peter bowed his head, and felt wretched.

"But you have held back to this point, and you have resisted. For my sake."

"Yes," Peter nodded fiercely; that, too, was truth. "But he's so . . . insistent. And he makes threats of disaster and wars if we don't do something to . . . strengthen ourselves. To cement our position."

"Do you think this much is true?"

The question was not, at heart, interrogative; the Lion, Peter thought, knew the answer already but wanted only to hear the King voice his thoughts for himself. Peter tried to phrase his words carefully.

"I think we are in a weakened position. Calormen is no longer the friend she once was, and our lands are . . . scattered. Governing them is a challenge. I do believe we must seek some way to solidify against outside threats."

"And you have considered the solution proposed by this man as a means of doing so."

His stomach shrivelling, his neck burning, Peter nodded, miserable.

"I have."

"You considered," and the voice was deep, and terrible, "taking your own sister for your bride."

"I did. For the good of the Kingdom—"

"She _IS_ the Kingdom!" The roar thundered around them; it shook the foundation stones of Cair Paravel, and made the mountains tremble in the distance. Narnia heaved and lurched below their feet in awe of the one who created her, and Peter, of his own choice, fell flat on his face, tears flowing freely in the face of Aslan's fury.

"Your sisters govern at your side. Your brother also. You four, by my election, are the Kingdom of Narnia. You are its foundation, its laws and its future. You are a fulfillment of what has been awaited, and a promise —a glimpse— of what I have planned to come. The rule that you have established is but the palest shadow of the Rule I will one day set up for all who serve you and love me, and to do what you have considered would be to destroy all that I have planned to set in place."

When he put it like that, it seemed beyond serious; it seemed utterly unforgivable. Peter was convinced that he was done for; that he had completely ruined whatever it was that had been planned, or would at least share no part in it when it happened. But just as the wretched King became absolutely convinced that there was no hope for him, that Aslan would turn him away for what he had confessed, he felt the heat of the great Cat's breath on his neck, and found within him the strength to raise his head and look into the depths of those loving eyes.

"Peace, my son," Aslan sighed, and the sweet, warm air from his mouth gave Peter the courage needed to sit up. "You have listened to false counsel, and many a man has done worse. Rise, and walk with me. I must see that you understand."

So Peter stood, and together he and Aslan stepped down onto the sloping, misty shoreline that ran down to the Eastern Sea.

"Did you offer no rebuttal to this man's suggestion?" Aslan asked, and Peter, who again felt that the answer was already known, gave it anyway.

"I did. I told him . . . such things were against us. That they weren't what humans did. I said that this would be a mockery of what we were, and- and that I would never dishonour my sister that way."

"And his reply to the truths you spoke?"

"He said that . . . that things are different, here in Narnia." Peter felt his neck heat once more at the memory; at how he had begun to think it might be true. "He said what's Nature to us isn't . . . isn't Nature here. He knew, you see, that in our world we'd no such things as Talking Beasts and Dryads and the like, and . . . he sought to use it against me."

A deep, quick growl rose and died in the Lion's throat, and Peter corrected himself.

"I let him use it against me. I let myself believe it could be so."

"And you know better now?"

"I know it's not true," Peter admitted cautiously, and was it his imagination, or did the Lion seem to chuckle?

"It is not," he agreed, with a solemn inclination of that heavy, shaggy head. "It is not. I made this world, Peter; I sang it into life and I made it my own. I know what is Natural here, and as I am in that world, so am I in this. There is no change in me, and there is no change in what I make true. The truth that is incumbent upon your heart is a truth I put there before you even knew what it was; it is what guided you to refuse this man from the start, and it is what will give you the strength to return to your sister, who has wept every night since this began, and bow your knee to her in apology."

"I shall; I'll go at once," Peter promised with such fervour that Aslan laughed; really laughed, in that great, rich, rumbling roar of a Lion that is its truest and deepest laugh. For even Lions have a sense of humour.

"Not yet," he said at last, so Peter stayed where he was, and listened as Aslan went on.

"This courtier who has attempted to poison your mind against my truth; this man who would bend what it is real and contaminate my creation to make it fit a mould of his own pleasing. I will have none like him in my land, Peter, and the example that you must make of him will be severe."

Peter nodded, and swallowed hard, and Aslan must have understood his concern for when he spoke again it was much gentler.

"You need do nothing to him, my son, save banish him beyond your borders. He and his heirs may never return for his lifetime, nor theirs, but once his generation and the one after it have passed, then his descendants may return if they choose, and again make their home in Narnia. By then, perhaps, they will have seen what folly it is to deny the right of your rule."

He focused his eyes directly on Peter's own as he spoke his next words.

"The blood shared between yourself, your brother and your sisters is all the bond that is needed to rule the land unto which I have given you. You share blood and honour and love. There is no room for people thusly bound to share a bed as well, else they would defile the beauty of the first three. Remember, Peter; let whatever you choose to do be nothing that would shame me to have you for my own. For when all is said and done, and the end to all things comes, I will still know you."

Then, through the mist that was swirling in off the Sea, the sun began to glow as it had not done for months. It radiated a rich, lovely golden light that spread closer and closer to them, until it surrounded Aslan and seemed to swallow him up. Then the mist cleared, and it was only Peter, standing alone on a beach with the birds singing.

For just a moment he stood as all people do, who have just had a walk with the Lion. There was a dazed, wondering look on his face, and the faintest remnants of Aslan's gold hung around him still. Then it cleared, and Peter was off and running, not stopping even as he entered the Cair but continuing all the way in until he reached Susan's door.

He stopped there, suddenly very conscious of himself and of the guard who stood outside it. But the guard made no move to stop him, and with a sudden, sickening lurch, Peter saw just how powerless his sister would have been against the threat he posed. With a knot in his stomach, he knocked sharply on the door, and waited for her summons before entering.

The moment he set eyes on her, it was clear she'd been weeping. Her face, even paler than usual, was a sharp contrast to her red, swollen eyes. He felt the knot in his stomach swell, then shrivel. How could he have ever thought . . .

"Su," he choked, and the brokenness in his voice made her study him more closely. "Su, I've been such a . . . I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I don't know how to . . ."

Then he was on his knee at her feet, his face lifted to hers, and the tears he thought he'd shed had returned. Susan, though, did not growl or roar as Aslan had done; she did nothing, in fact, to inspire those tears save merely looking at him with sad, frightened eyes that gradually lost their fear as she realised what he wanted.

"Forgive me?" he choked, and at once, almost without hesitation, one slim, pale hand rested lovingly on his head.

"Always," she murmured, and the single word was the release he had been looking for. With another sob he took her hand and pressed his lips to the knuckles.

"I'm sorry," he whispered once more, "so, so sorry . . ."

"I know, Peter." Susan felt the tension ease out of her shoulders at long last. "I know."

Then she sat there and let him weep as, under the sweet weight of his own relief, his sister's absolution and Aslan's truth, Peter bowed.

0O0O0O0

0O0O0O0


End file.
